


Independence

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Inline with canon, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Obedience, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6545854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kid must be truly asleep for the moment, or maybe it’s just that Tetsuma is carefully quiet about his movement in this; either way, it’s not until the ladder to the hayloft squeaks with another’s weight that Kid stirs and turns his head to blink attention onto the dim-lit lines of Tetsuma’s face coming into view." The afternoon is the hottest part of the day at Ben Ranch, and some activities are warmer than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Independence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guobaa](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=guobaa).



Ben Ranch gets hot in the afternoons. The mornings are cool enough to be nearly pleasant even with the humidity turning the air as heavy as a blanket, but as the sun rises in the sky the surroundings heat too, and by the time lunch has come and gone it’s impossible to find the strength to do anything active until the sun has slipped past its zenith and started easing towards the horizon again. The team practices first thing in the morning -- better to indulge in the exertion with the players still yawning from sleep than to run the risk of heatstroke by midday -- so by the time the afternoon has descended there’s nothing for anyone to do but to occupy themselves as they will and wait for the weight of heat to ease.

Kid takes to the barn. He likes the way it smells, likes the faintly musty smell of the horses that are free to roam the ranch during the day and the clean sweet of the fresh hay stored in the lofts above the empty stalls. It’s quiet in the barn, peaceful like so little in Kid’s life has ever been peaceful; when he’s in here he can almost lose the remembered rattle of gunshots and the shouts of enthusiasm from an audience of strangers. The haylofts are raised up above the cooler shade of the stalls, warm with the rising heat of the afternoon, but the roof keeps out the radiance of the sun, and with the floodlights for nighttime illumination shut off the whole room adopts a heavy golden glow dim enough that Kid doesn’t even need his hat over his eyes to suggest the relaxation of a nap. He settles himself in the hayloft, with the barely-there tickle of the straw under his shirt to keep him from slipping into too deep a sleep, and when he lies back across the support of the hay under him it’s to recline into the drowsy state that brings the half-formed dreams that are the only kind Kid ever lets himself have, the ones that hover between daytime imagination and nighttime invention as his thoughts wander unconfined through memory and present alike.

Kid doesn’t hear the barn door open. He must be truly asleep for the moment, or maybe it’s just that Tetsuma is carefully quiet about his movement in this; either way, it’s not until the ladder to the loft squeaks with another’s weight that Kid stirs and turns his head to blink attention onto the dim-lit lines of Tetsuma’s face coming into view.

“Hey there,” he says, offering a lopsided smile as Tetsuma sees him watching and nods a greeting, as silent as he ever is about his communication. Kid shifts against the hay, pushing himself onto an elbow and reaching up to push a lock of hair back behind his ear. Tetsuma climbs to the top of the ladder and swings himself off it, his movements more deliberate than graceful, and Kid slides backwards across the hay to make space for the other alongside him. For a moment Tetsuma hesitates, glancing at Kid like he’s waiting for permission like he always does; and Kid smiles, and gestures, and says “Come here,” the order as much permission as it is command.

Tetsuma obeys. He’s awkward about settling over the slope the hay makes under them, clearly uncomfortable about relaxing into the easy slouch the support demands, but Kid reaches for his shoulder and Tetsuma follows the lead of his touch as immediately as he follows the direction of Kid’s words, tipping himself forward and down until he’s lying alongside the angle Kid is making across the hay himself. In the dim lighting of the loft Tetsuma’s eyes look black, their focus endless; his mouth is set in the line of attention so close to a frown anyone not Kid would think it one. But Kid knows Tetsuma, knows him better than he knows anything about himself, and he knows better than to mistake Tetsuma’s intensity for unhappiness. It’s just focus, just the determination to see any command from Kid’s lips through to the end, and when Kid pulls at Tetsuma’s shoulder to urge him in close Tetsuma comes, his lashes dipping heavy over his eyes as Kid tugs him in towards a kiss. His breathing is warm, his exhale against Kid’s mouth hotter even than the humid air in the loft; and then Kid’s lips meet his, and the hard line of Tetsuma’s mouth eases to gentleness, capitulating to softness like he’s giving up even his focus to Kid’s guidance in this. Kid likes the feel of it, likes that moment of surrender as Tetsuma’s mouth goes gentle against his, with the heat in the air prickling sweat against the back of his neck and his hat sliding backwards off the weight of his hair.

They stay like that for a while. Tetsuma is never pushy, never urges for anything more than what Kid voluntarily offers him; it always makes Kid’s chest ache a little bit, with pleasure or pain he’s not sure which. He thinks, sometimes, he might like Tetsuma to be more aggressive, to topple him backwards and loom over him with a focus on his own desire instead of on Kid’s; but this is good, too, Tetsuma’s hand careful against his hip and Tetsuma’s mouth soft against his lips. Kid’s the one taking action, settling a hand in against the short-cut hair at the back of Tetsuma’s neck and sliding the angle of his fingers just inside the collar of Tetsuma’s shirt, and when they shift it’s Kid who opens his mouth first, who licks against the part of Tetsuma’s lips to ask for more. Tetsuma surrenders immediately, compliant in this as he is in everything else, and when Kid tastes the heat of his mouth Tetsuma’s hand comes up, abandoning its deliberate weight at the other’s hip to land tentative against Kid’s hair instead. Kid groans, a faint note far back in his throat, and Tetsuma presses harder, his fingers sinking into the weight of the other’s hair as Kid slides closer to the radiant heat of Tetsuma’s body. His hat is slipping, he can feel the angle of it giving way to gravity, but he doesn’t move to catch it back, even when Tetsuma’s touch knocks it loose to tumble against the corner of the loft behind them. It’s Tetsuma who draws back then, who starts to pull his touch away to reach for the dropped hat; but Kid tightens his hold at the back of the other’s neck, says “Leave it,” before Tetsuma can find the words for apology, and when Tetsuma looks back at him he pulls at his hold and tips backwards over the hay to urge Tetsuma to lean over instead of alongside him. Tetsuma’s hand catches his weight, the brace of the other’s arm taking a portion of his balance, but he’s still pressed close against Kid’s body, the warm weight of him pinning Kid down against the give of the hay beneath his shoulders. Kid lets himself collapse over the support, lets the tension along his back and hunching in his shoulders go, and Tetsuma is easing too, relaxing against him like Kid’s touch at his shoulder is doing what the heat of the afternoon couldn’t and stripping some of the steel from his shoulders. Tetsuma’s lips go softer, his breathing rushes faster, and then Kid arches himself up off the hay and against the solid lines of Tetsuma’s body, and he can taste the startled groan on the other’s lips as if it’s spilling up his own throat.

“Yeah,” Kid breathes, more for the feel of the sound in his mouth than for the meaning of it, and he pulls Tetsuma down closer still, fitting one hand up along the sharp line at the angle of Tetsuma’s waist to urge him nearer. Tetsuma’s hips rock down, his legs flexing with effort Kid can feel against the inside of his own, and when Kid shifts his weight sideways he can press their bodies into alignment, can feel the heat of Tetsuma’s arousal grind hard against his own rising interest. Tetsuma is breathing hard at his mouth, the rate of his inhales nearly breaking apart the pattern of their kisses, but Kid doesn’t mind; he’s caught in the movement of his fingers anyway, distracted by trying to work his touch in under the weight of Tetsuma’s shirt and to the bare skin at his back. When he succeeds he can tell immediately, as much from the way Tetsuma goes still over him as from the sweat-damp drag of skin under his fingers; it makes him smile, pulls tentative happiness onto his lips, and then he’s pressing his whole palm against the dip of Tetsuma’s spine and Tetsuma groans again, an incoherent note of heat on his tongue as he turns his head to press his face to Kid’s shoulder.

“Jou,” Kid says, a question instead of a command, a filler instead of a protest. The air in the loft is hot, clinging to every inch of his skin as closely as his clothes stick to his sweat, as close as Tetsuma’s chest is pressed to his. “Do you want to?”

Tetsuma doesn’t hesitate. Tetsuma never hesitates. He just nods, fast and certain, the action so clear Kid can feel it against his shoulder without even needing to look to see the motion.

“We won’t have very long,” he says, more for the sake of acknowledging the fact than because he really expects it to dissuade Tetsuma at all, but also because he has to, because he always offers all the disadvantages right at the start, a warning in advance to allow his partner to leave this time, if he wants, even though Kid’s never seen Tetsuma so much as blink at the possibility. “We might get caught even if we’re careful. And it’s awfully hot, I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to.”

Tetsuma shakes his head, this time, an immediate rejection of the excuses Kid is inventing for him. When he shifts his hand slides free of Kid’s hair, skimming down his chest to the top edge of his jeans, to the line of his belt coming across to the weight of the buckle against the denim. There’s a drag of fingers, the press of contact as Tetsuma fits his palm against Kid’s jeans, and then deliberate pressure, the catch and grind of the other’s palm pressing friction against Kid’s length. Kid shudders, a brief, involuntary quiver of motion running through him at the sensation, and his blood flares hot, the heavy heat of the afternoon not enough to overwhelm the fire that sparks into his blood.

“Okay,” he says, and it’s almost a laugh on his tongue, it’s almost pleasure in his throat, if he could relax enough to let himself feel it. “Let me get my pants off.”

Tetsuma pulls back immediately, drawing away and rocking back on his heels to wait while Kid pushes himself upright and looks down to tug open the weight of his buckle and unfasten his fly. Tetsuma’s face doesn’t show the least sign of impatience; Kid thinks he could take an hour, longer, and there wouldn’t be so much as a flicker of a question behind Tetsuma’s stoic calm. It’s charming, in a kind of odd, familiar way; but Kid doesn’t like to take advantage of Tetsuma’s patience, and he doesn’t want to keep himself waiting either, and they really do run some risk of getting caught, even with the heat of the afternoon and the shadows of the loft to protect them. So he doesn’t bother with his boots, and he doesn’t push his jeans off all the way either; he just loosens the button and pulls down the zipper, just enough to urge the heavy texture of the fabric off his hips and down his thighs, and then he turns over, bracing his knees against the slope of the hay and angling an arm in front of him so he can balance against the support of his forearm. There’s sweat collecting at the small of his back, slick heat trickling along the back of his neck under the weight of his hair, but he doesn’t reach up to make the futile attempt to wipe the moisture off. He just braces himself, spreading his knees a careful inch wider against the hay, and says, “Alright,” without any additional instruction.

Tetsuma doesn’t need it. No sooner has Kid spoken than there’s movement behind him and the rustle of Tetsuma shifting over the hay in the loft. A knee fits between Kid’s calves, Tetsuma rocks closer over his knees; there’s the sound of plastic clicking against itself, the telltale noise of Tetsuma slicking his fingers with the lube Kid told him to carry once, months ago, and that he’s kept with him ever since. It only takes a moment; then there’s a hand at Kid’s hip, fingers spreading wide to brace against his skin as gently as a kiss, and slick-warm contact against his entrance, Tetsuma pressing against sensitive skin with the deliberate, gentle touch that Kid’s only ever known him to have. He’s careful, always so careful, like Kid is something fragile and precious instead of just the flawed human he is, and Kid always wants to correct him at moments like this, when his heart is pounding in his chest and his eyes are prickling with almost-tears at the tenderness of Tetsuma’s touch. He wants to say _you can’t hurt me_ , wants to say _I’m not that important_ , wants to say any number of things that would make Tetsuma see him as he actually is instead of as whatever Tetsuma has always seen in him, whatever is in him that Tetsuma has found worth so much of his obedience for so long. But he doesn’t know what he could say to disabuse Tetsuma of his perception, isn’t sure Tetsuma would listen anyway, and besides that he’s selfish enough in this moment to not want to, to duck his head and shut his eyes and let the gentle drag of Tetsuma’s touch against his skin replace the midday heat with a flush warmer still. Tetsuma’s fingers spread at his hip, fingertips catching callused at Kid’s skin; and then he presses inside, sliding one slick finger into the other with the same focused attention that he brings to everything Kid has ever seen him do. It’s a stretch, warm and tugging familiar along Kid’s spine, and Tetsuma is pushing deeper into him without waiting, just the way Kid’s told him he likes it, with enough speed that Kid’s back arches into a dip and the air in his lungs rushes out in a gasp. It’s not enough to stop Tetsuma -- only a direct command would do that, Kid knows -- and that’s the way Kid likes it, too, with his chest still straining for another breath of air when Tetsuma draws back to push into him again. The friction rocks him forward, his body going pliant to the force, and he gasps for a breath, feels his cock twitching against the heat of the air as Tetsuma’s touch presses far into him with the same accuracy he’s shown ever since the first time, when Kid had gasped “There” and Tetsuma had nodded like he was taking an order and taken Kid apart with a crease in his forehead and concentration at his lips.

It’s no different now. Tetsuma undoes Kid methodically, with first one and then two fingers, and for all the thinking Kid usually does on the field and during practice there’s no thinking at all here, no command requiring voice on his tongue. He can duck his head, he can shut his eyes, he can let the heat of Tetsuma’s touch inside him meld with the radiance of the air around him and sweep aside his awareness of time and space together. His hands are still against the hay under him, if he breathes in he can catch dust on his tongue; but he has to think about that, has to reach for the consciousness of it when it’s so much easier instead to let his attention fall into the rhythmic motion of Tetsuma’s fingers dragging slick across his skin and urging his body to warm relaxation. He’s hard still, his cock hot and aching distantly with want of friction; but Kid doesn’t reach for himself, and he doesn’t shove himself backwards to meet Tetsuma’s motions. He just lets himself exist for a while, for an unmeasured span of time, lets the ache in his stomach pool dark and warm and desperate, until when he finally says, “Okay,” his voice comes out raw in his throat, dragged into an unfamiliar low roughness on the edges of the want straining along his shoulders.

Tetsuma doesn’t ask for confirmation. Tetsuma never asks, never questions, never does anything but precisely, exactly what Kid asks of him. Right now that means he slides his touch back and away, doesn’t hesitate even when Kid gusts a shuddering exhale at the loss of the stretch, and when he rocks back over his knees Kid doesn’t have to look to know Tetsuma’s unfastening his belt and jeans with that same unshakeable focus. He glances back anyway, just once, just to see the dark of Tetsuma’s hair catching to soft spikes against the sweat at his forehead as he watches what he’s doing; and then Tetsuma is coming back up over his knees, and sliding forward, and Kid has to turn away again and stare at the pattern of his shirtsleeves to keep his focus together for the few seconds he needs.

“Keep your knees wider,” he says as Tetsuma starts to lean over him. Kid rocks his knees closer, narrowing his balance to something more precarious, but Tetsuma doesn’t need the physical cue; he’s moving already, bracing himself with a careful hand at Kid’s hip as he shifts his weight wider to press his knees to the outside of Kid’s calves. There’s a shift of movement, the sound of Tetsuma’s jeans catching and dragging against Kid’s loosened clothes; and then warmth against Kid’s back, the weight of Tetsuma leaning in over him to reach out and press a hand against the hay over his shoulder. Kid can see the spread of Tetsuma’s fingers against the dim-lit gold of the straw, can see the flex of effort in Tetsuma’s wrist as he braces himself in place, but Tetsuma’s breathing doesn’t so much as stutter out-of-rhythm as he shifts his weight into alignment. Kid’s spine is prickling anticipation, his skin flushing with the almost-contact of Tetsuma leaning close over him; and then there’s friction, the slick heat of Tetsuma’s cock dragging over his skin, and he shuts his eyes, and dips his head, and lets himself groan into a moment of incoherent heat at the sensation. There’s just that for a breath, the heat in his lungs and the slick drag of skin-on-skin made easy with the damp of the lube between them; then Tetsuma slides into place, and Kid lets his inhale go, and Tetsuma pushes forward and into him in one unhesitating stroke. Kid’s back arches, his body tensing involuntarily against the sudden friction, and Tetsuma makes a sound behind him, a low rush of air in what would be a moan were his throat not so relaxed. As it is it’s only the outline of a reaction, the shape of the note without the substance, and then he rocks back and thrusts forward again and Kid’s the one to fill in that suggested response with the low ache of a groan over his tongue. Tetsuma’s weight rocks forward, the support of his chest bumping the line of Kid’s back, and Kid can see his hand shift, his fingers tensing into support against the straw under them before he begins to move, a steady, focused rhythm to his hips like he’s following the pattern of some unheard metronome, or like his reflexive actions are guided by the tempo of his heart beating heavy in his chest. It’s certainly not following Kid’s; his own pulse is racing out of control, the surge of heat in his veins enough to knock his inhales out-of-sync with each other and gasping hard in the back of his throat like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Tetsuma is warm over him, hot inside him, and the pace is too fast, it’s more than Kid’s coherency can keep up with. He’s panting for air, feeling all the weight of the heat hanging around them filling his chest like pressure crushing down against him, and then Tetsuma whimpers over him, very faintly, and all Kid’s body shudders in answering resonance to that tiny crack in Tetsuma’s composure.

“Jou,” Kid breathes, letting the weight of the vowels catch and curl on his tongue, and Tetsuma huffs a breath over him, his mouth close enough that Kid can feel the heat of the other’s exhale ruffle his hair. Kid’s body tenses again, his cock twitching hard towards his stomach, and he lets his patience give way, tastes the surrender to temptation as saturated-sweet as honey at the back of his tongue. “Please.”

Tetsuma doesn’t ask, and Tetsuma doesn’t hesitate. He just moves, letting his gentle touch at Kid’s hip go as he reaches around to frame the other in the angle of his arms. There’s a huff of air against Kid’s hair, the suggestion of a kiss at the back of his neck, and Kid dips his head forward to let his hair swing heavy off the skin just as Tetsuma closes his hand around his length. His grip is tight, his movement steady, and Kid is already breathless, already panting for want of air even without the friction of Tetsuma’s hand stroking over him. With it he’s trembling, gasping, shaking against the support of his arms like his whole body is trying to melt completely under Tetsuma’s touch. There’s no stutter in Tetsuma’s movement, in spite of the competing demands on his attention; his hips are still thrusting forward in a smooth pattern utterly unaffected by the offset rhythm of his hand. The only shift Kid can feel is in the breathing against the back of his neck, in the gasp of air Tetsuma is taking against the sweat-damp weight of his hair. Kid tips his head farther forward, makes an offer of his skin as his body flushes hot with anticipation, and then Tetsuma’s mouth lands at the back of his neck and a shudder runs straight down his spine, as if an electrical circuit has just been completed to jolt painless fire through him. Tetsuma’s legs are flexing, his hand is tensing, and Kid is starting to go lightheaded, even his sense of the present flickering out and away under the force of Tetsuma drawing him out of himself and into the languid rise of pleasure. Everything is hot, his clothes sticking to his skin and the pressure of Tetsuma moving inside him and the rush of breathing at the back of his neck; and then Tetsuma makes a sound, a noise too faint for Kid to hear clearly but for the last: “--ien,” dragged rough over vocal chords unused to the fluid rhythm of casual speech. Kid tenses, his spine arching at the sound of his name, and then Tetsuma sighs, and Kid shudders, and jerks, and comes under the drag of Tetsuma’s hand over him. His heart is pounding, his breathing catching, but just for the moment it doesn’t matter, not with the shuddering waves of sensation breaking over his head to drag him down to relief. There’s just the heat, the satisfaction pulling a choked-off moan from the very back of his throat, and over him Tetsuma groaning sharp and sudden as he follows Kid into orgasm. There’s a stutter in his movement, a catch in the angle of his hips; and then he falls back into his steady pace, finishing out the last few strokes with the same deliberate rhythm he sustained through the rest of it. Kid’s left to tremble through the aftershocks of heat, his legs shaking worse even than his arms before Tetsuma huffs an exhale against the back of his neck and goes still against him.

Kid can feel how warm they are as they pull apart. The exertion has cast all his skin into a sticky-hot glow and has left slick damp all along his spine, to say nothing of the mess he made of Tetsuma’s fingers. But his head is still spinning, his thoughts still hazy, and when he falls sideways to sprawl into the haze of the loft he finds he doesn’t mind even the effort breathing against the heat costs him. He catches his breath for a few moments, lets his heart slow from the frantic rush it’s been making against his ribcage; by the time he has the strength to arch up off the hay and drag his jeans back into place, Tetsuma has cleaned himself up and is in the process of refastening his belt buckle with nothing to speak to his effort but the sweat casting all his face to a sheen of damp. Kid watches him for a minute, watches the set of the frown at Tetsuma’s mouth as he rebuckles his jeans and the deliberate care in his fingers as he moves; and then he reaches out, and curls his fingers around Tetsuma’s wrist, and Tetsuma looks up at him, the rhythm of his action stalling instantly to the delicate touch of Kid’s hand.

“Come here,” Kid tells him, and tugs to urge Tetsuma down alongside him, to smooth the stiff lines of the other’s shoulders into relaxation against the support of the hay. Tetsuma is awkward about his movement still, jerky in the unfamiliar process of relaxing, but Kid pulls him anyway, and after a moment Tetsuma is lying alongside the other, his shoulders still clinging to the outline of his posture from before. Kid turns his head sideways and drags his hand through the dark of Tetsuma’s hair; when he dips his head forward he can just fit his lips to the other’s temple, can taste the salt-damp of sweat against his lips. Tetsuma stirs, shifting very slightly; and then he lifts his arm, and reaches sideways to fit his arm carefully around Kid’s waist.

It’s too warm. With the weight of Tetsuma’s arm over him Kid can feel the fabric of his shirt clinging to his skin, can feel the faint itch of the hay underneath him prickling through his clothes. But when he turns his head it’s to hide a smile against Tetsuma’s hair, and when he moves it’s to tip his shoulders so he can reach out for Tetsuma in turn.

He’ll never complain about anything Tetsuma decides to do on his own.


End file.
